DEAR MISS MANNERS: What am I to do when acquaintances (sometimes people to whom I have just been introduced at a party) ask me if I am married and then proceed to grill me on the reasons that I am not? They invariably pronounce me too attractive, bright, etc., not to be married, and I am really stymied as to an appropriate response. Actually, I have a few thoughts, but I know you would not approve.

GENTLE READER: Some people have trouble learning that it is the meat that is supposed to be grilled at parties, not the guests. Miss Manners would probably not approve of what you are considering, but she would allow you to listen to all that nonsense without comment and then say, "But enough about me. Now tell me about your love life."

DEAR MISS MANNERS: I am an employee at a fast food franchise. Yesterday, I had a very unfortunate experience with a patron who was angry at me because 1) I was unable to accept a $50 bill as payment for her meal and 2) I told her that I had to charge her 20 cents for a cup of water.

This is because our restaurant policy forbids me to break down larger bills (due to counterfeiting risks) or give out cups for free (because of inventory purposes). These policies were not set by me, but by the people in upper management.

It is important to realize that when scenarios such as the one above are encountered in a fast food restaurant (and, indeed, in many other areas of customer service), the service workers are not intending to be rude or inhospitable, but are merely acting on orders from upper management. We do not like these rules any more than the customer does, but we are required to follow them. Failure to do so can result in disciplinary action or even dismissal.

If a customer does not like the policies regarding customer service, a more appropriate (and productive) method of dealing with the situation is to report one's concerns to upper management. They are the ones who make and give the orders and are more likely to listen to feedback from customers than they are from subordinate employees.

GENTLE READER: Your point is a reasonable one, and Miss Manners hopes that customer anger is not expressed to you rudely, for which there would be no excuse. Nevertheless, she is afraid that you missed something.

You are not only the employee of this restaurant, who must follow its rules, but its representative to the customer. And, presumably, the company is interested in saving customers as well as money. If you find that its policy is alienating customers, you should report this to your superiors in a businesslike way.

You should also tell customers that you will pass on their complaints. While it is fine to inform them where to report, you should understand that people who come by for a fast meal are less likely to do paperwork to improve one chain than to defect to another.

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DEAR MISS MANNERS: What is the correct way to hold a musicale? I want to host a party where the amateur musicians and singers among my friends and family can perform in a friendly atmosphere, just for fun.

A few difficulties come to mind, though. I don't want any invited guest to feel obligated to perform, but I also don't want a supposedly musical event where nobody feels like playing. I'd like to encourage beginners as well as more accomplished amateurs to perform. To avoid intimidating the less accomplished players, I'd like to have them perform before the more accomplished players, but I'd feel crass asking performers how good they think they are.

How do I keep performances to a reasonable length? Is it acceptable to rule out amplified instruments? Is it acceptable to have my own amateur group play last? Is it appropriate to ask those who would perform for some advance information (requirements for chairs or stands and so on)? Despite all my concerns, I don't want to take the fun out of the event by over-planning it. What guidance can you give me?

GENTLE READER: By an amazing coincidence, you have come to exactly the right place. Ordinarily, Miss Manners leaves novelty party-planning to others, having quite enough to do teaching hosts and guests to get through an ordinary evening without untoward incident.

However, she happens to have been one of the hosts at a wildly successful party billed as "an evening of horrible, amateur music." The premise was that many people love to play, even though they do not do it well. As an amateur violinist of Miss Manners' acquaintance replied when asked if such sounds are as painful for the player as for the listener, "Oh, no -- it's like eating garlic. Others can't stand it, but the person who does it has a wonderful time."

It is therefore essential to take great care with the guest list. Serious musicians must be excluded, no matter how otherwise charming they may happen to be.

Nor should the format be that of a children's recital, where the trade-off is to pretend to enjoy others' playing for their tolerance as listeners. This is too much of a strain, not only on the ears, but on the facial muscles and on that delicate struggle between the respective morality of truth and politeness.

Instead, the guests, having been asked to bring their instruments and music books, should be encouraged to approach other guests to propose collaborations, and pre-existing groups should be asked to be open to temporary additions. Chairs and stands should be provided, and -- unless you happen to live in an amphitheatre -- guests will have to be warned that amplification is precluded.

Miss Manners found that it worked well socially, if rather oddly musically, and the house was soon filled with little duets, trios, singers with their new accompanists and the occasional soloist content to plunk away in a corner. Happy combinations did find that they attracted listeners naturally, but what made the party work was that the emphasis was on playing, rather than performing.

The occasion happened to mark some birthdays, so before a late supper, another host, a singer, organized everyone into an instant orchestra and chorus for a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday." Any simple, well-known tune would do as well to get everyone together and round off the evening.

Another host made a cake in the form of a piano, with chocolate and vanilla keys, a mound of steak tartare shaped like a cello and so on. But now we are far from Miss Manners' area of competence. What made her a key player at this party is that she happens to be a very good listener.

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Let's not get back to normal. The commemoration has not been properly done until we have honored the profound effect that last year's national tragedy had on society during the aftermath of the attack.

What do you mean, you don't remember that part? That you remember the pain and have sustained the patriotism, and what more could there be?

Miss Manners is distraught. You promised at the time that you would never forget. You declared that the world had changed forever, and you were changing your life to go with it. And it wasn't just the loss of security to which you were referring, but the gain in civility.

A year ago, the terrorism attack unexpectedly exploded the belief that Americans are terminally selfish and rude. Nobody had believed this assessment more fervently than Americans themselves, although naturally it was not themselves they meant.

Deploring the rudeness of other Americans (and developing fiendishly rude punishments for them) was the national sport. It seemed to be everyone out for himself or herself. A unit of more than one person was called The Dysfunctional Family.

Then, disaster hit, and everything changed in an instant.

Relatives turned out to be deeply devoted to one another. Not only were those missing and killed the subject of intense emotion, but families who were far from danger started checking in with one another and expressing their appreciation. Those whom cynicism had made wary of forming new families wanted to get married.

Friends who had drifted apart or who had become estranged got back in touch and resolved their quarrels. The emotional content had come to seem more important than whether they still had matching interests (and perhaps incomes).

Strangers tried to make themselves useful to one another. There were massive efforts to be compassionate to those in need and considerate of those whom they had been shoving aside.

The techniques of tact were quickly learned: that "being in a hurry" is no justification for failing to realize that others could have equal or greater claims to urgency. Petty concerns that may seem important do not matter all that much. That workers who put themselves into danger to help others are even more heroic than famous athletes and singers. That funerals are obligatory occasions of solemn and formal dignity, not optional parties where the guest of honor happens to be missing. That bereavement is a tragic fact of life, not a problem that can be overcome in stages, and that, therefore, the word "closure" should be jettisoned.

So, despite the horrendous circumstances, society became strangely pleasant. The worse the situation, the more inspiring humanity became.

For all her scolding over the years, Miss Manners already knew that Americans had all this in them. It is demonstrated every time there is a large scale disaster. Whenever there is an earthquake, famine, war, plague, hurricane or flood, Americans rush to help -- not just in their own towns, or even just in their own country, but wherever it happens.

And they always seem to come away with that exhilarating feeling of solidarity that comes with working for the common good, rather than the comparatively paltry satisfaction of merely making their own way, heedless of the welfare of others.

Then, for most people, the feeling passes, and it is back to business as usual.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: Please settle an old, and friendly, cork coaster argument among members of my bridge club. I believe a coaster should be used cork-side up. My friends, all seven of them, believe the cork side should be down with the slippery picture-side up.

As silly as this sounds, I would like to go to bridge with proof from you that I am correct. But am I? Thanks for your answer, even if I'm wrong.

GENTLE READER: You're welcome. You're wrong.

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